The Saga of Tanya the Evil Volume 9

we’re headed downhill.”
He abruptly presents his analysis of the current situation. It’s awful to

hear, but that’s just the reality of what the Empire is facing. At least it’s clear
my superior grasps the gravity of the challenge before us.

“Doing something about this mess is my job. I guess I’ll start by purging
the Kranke as needed… Though it’s not even clear what needs to be removed
or how.”

Purge is an incredibly dangerous word. What is he implying?
Unfortunately, interrupting now would be like poking a sleeping dog.
As the general answers his own questions mockingly, Tanya smiles in
uncertain silence, as is the social norm. Being polite is ultimately about
personal safety.
“I’ve whined too much, Colonel.”
“No, I feel I’ve glimpsed a fraction of the weight you are forced to bear,
sir. My respect for you and your burden has only grown.”
This formal exchange needs to be observed thoroughly from start to
finish. In an utterly natural manner, Tanya performs a bow as if in awe of
him.
“How very thoughtful of you. I’m sure you could make it as a bureaucrat
in the capital. I don’t mean that as an insult, mind you.”
“Thank you, sir—I’ve noted the army’s opinion of bureaucrats in
general.”
““Ha-ha-ha.”” Two sets of hearty laughs echo throughout the room.
A mutual enemy is a powerful tool for bringing people together. Handled
appropriately, this shared hatred of bureaucracy can make for excellent social
lubricant.
“Well, we can’t chat all day. Your unit will be reorganized under Colonel
Lergen…is what the official records will say. In reality, it’s up to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As part of your leave, the Kampfgruppe’s artillery and infantry
components will be stationed in a port city. When the time is right, Colonel
Lergen will be formally transferred back to the General Staff.”
“A promotion.”
Man, even in these trying times, the colonel with strong ties to Central
nets another sweet deal? Not only has he accumulated human capital, but also
he’s blessed with social capital as well.

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“That’s right. As for the armored and mage units, we’ll have them
reorganize on the outskirts of the capital.”

“Any hope for replacement mages?”
“Don’t expect any.”
“…Understood.”
Not that I anticipated a different reaction. There was a faint hope, but as
expected, it’s not happening.
“We’ve been dealing with a chronic shortage of mages fit for the front
lines for some time now. I’ll be straight with you. We’re already doing you a
favor by not pulling any from your unit.”
“With the knowledge that I’m being presumptuous, my Kampfgruppe, to
say nothing of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, is a quick-reaction force
equipped with the Type 97 computation orb at its core. If I could humbly
request special consideration in order to maintain and develop our force…”
“Don’t push your luck, Colonel. We’re at our limits.”
“…Yes, sir.”
So we’re out of recruits of even First Lieutenant Wüstemann’s caliber?
Apparently, even insisting isn’t going to produce results. Mage units are
overly reliant on individual resourcefulness and ability. In a total war where
massive losses are a given, finding capable replacements is a herculean
challenge.
The fact that we’re basically out of mages who can operate a Type 97 is a
chilling thought. Hah. Tanya suppresses a sigh. Apparently, experienced
aerial mages, Tanya included, are a precious commodity now. Going
forward, we’ll be used with ever greater care while being worked to the bone
till we’re ground to dust.
Man, I really miss the labor standards guys. Back in the day, I admit that I
thought they were just naggy and obnoxious, but what I wouldn’t give to see
them now.
“Thanks for coming. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you again at some
point. Until then, discuss the details with Colonel Lergen.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be going, then.”

When Tanya exits the office, she finds Colonel Lergen has been waiting for

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her.
“Colonel, do you have a moment?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s take a little walk.”
The way he sets off without waiting for her response indicates that he

fully expects her to follow as a matter of course. That’s slightly insulting, but
— Well, considering the gap in their ranks and her position, Tanya has no
choice but to go with him.

Luckily, Lergen isn’t so far gone that he fails to be considerate about the
difference of their strides and thoughtfully matches her pace.

Naturally, he must want to talk about something.
As expected, he feigns casual conversation while launching into his main
purpose.
“…I assume you heard it with your own ears, Colonel.”
“Very unfavorable.”
“Indeed.”
With a pained wince, the esteemed colonel continues.
“This is the general state of things everywhere.”
“It’s hard to believe.”
“You should familiarize yourself with public opinion, Colonel
Degurechaff. I’ve been in the capital for a long time. Even so, I’m constantly
astonished at how much the army’s estimation of things differs from
everyone else. To you, it might sound like they’re coming from another
world.”
He probably hadn’t given the remark much thought. But to Tanya,
someone literally from another world, it’s quite thought-provoking.
“Oh dear, I’ll be talking to beings from another world, huh?”
It makes sense that the implication is lost on him. For a moment, it almost
makes perfect sense.
With a complete breakdown in common language, perhaps creating
another world is surprisingly simple.
“Haaah.” Another little sigh slips out.
“I wonder what language I should speak in.”
“The language of the Reich should work, no?”
“Ah, of course.”
Speaking the Reich’s language in another world.

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Wow… I’m deliberating on what language from another world I should
use to speak to people from another world in another world.

Am I having a stroke?
Maintaining my sanity is probably only going to get harder from here on
out. If it weren’t for that damned Being X, this never would have happened.
I’m definitely going to make that bastard pay.

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[chapter] II The Home Front

JUNE 30, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL AIR CONTROL IN THE
WEST

Interception Control was originally established as a very limited provisional
role within the Imperial Army—a sort of task force made up of aerial mages
and other air assets dedicated to interdicting enemy air attack. To put it
plainly, interception controllers were people who specialized in air defense.
The rationale for this command’s formation was simple.

The air battles over the Rhine front were fierce. It was natural to desire a
unit dedicated to conducting rapid response missions when the enemy was so
close that every second counted. In particular, the few Republican units that
conducted recon-in-force missions needed to be dealt with urgently whenever
they took to the skies.

Thus, to lessen the burden on the overworked Rhine Control, it was
decided that a post specializing in interception missions would be set up
along a separate chain of command. That was their only purpose and reason
for being. Once the challenges of the extreme close quarters of trench
fighting could be resolved, then their job was done…or at least, that was how
it was supposed to play out.

Their disbanding was put off time after time, until the Air Battle of the
West broke out.

From then on, former Rhine Control became full-time supporters of the
raging air war and maintaining air supremacy over the former Republic
became the jurisdiction of the provisional interception controllers.

But at that stage, Air Control and Interception Control were two different
things within Rhine Control. If nothing else, there’s little doubt that the two

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groups held themselves apart. Air Control was the main force, and
Interception Control chipped in to help deal with the occasional incursion of
the enemy’s long-distance reconnaissance aircraft.

Once things in the west settled down, everything would revert to the
purview of Air Control… Little did they know how that would change.

The future they took for granted was nothing but a dream.
Currently, the former Rhine Control, now dubbed Western Air Control,
was specialized in air defense and interception.
In addition to this strange reversal, the small and supposedly still
provisional special forces group ended up needing navigation support from
Air Control when they entered enemy territory.
They had been forced to shift from offense to defense. That perfectly
described the situation the entire Empire was facing. And nothing
demonstrated the Imperial Army’s predicament quite as eloquently as the
glum faces of the interception controllers in the control room.
Some might say there was an excess supply of sighs. In the Empire, beset
by chronic lack of production capacity to meet demand, irritated, miserable
grumbles were the sole exception and available in massive quantities.
“It’s the guys on their regular flight. They refuse to learn their lesson and
are back for more.”
“They’re going all in tonight… They’ve split into three groups, on course
for a raid on the lowland industrial zone.”
The personnel on duty swiftly gauged the enemy’s apparent intentions,
and the commander made the call as usual. It was time for war.
Another night of fighting had just begun.
“Issue the warning. It’s an interception battle, ladies and gentlemen. You
know what you’re doing. I want to see the usual results.”
You know what you’re doing.
The fact that the duty officer said it as encouragement, without a hint of
sarcasm, painted a vivid description of the Empire’s circumstances.

THE SAME DAY, ABOVE THE ROUTE TO THE LOWLAND
INDUSTRIAL ZONE ON THE FORMER RHINE FRONT

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Meanwhile, the Commonwealth bomber crews had surprisingly little idea
what they were doing.

To most pilots, apart from the pathfinders, bombing raids were unfamiliar
territory.

The reason for that was exceedingly simple—the average life span of a
Commonwealth bomber was fifty to sixty flight hours.

There was no way anyone would enthusiastically volunteer for these
missions if plane after plane came limping back home full of holes, while the
crew inside was lucky to still be alive.

They called them “bombing runs into hell.”
Whether they ended up dropping bombs or themselves into hell was a
total coin toss. One stroke of bad luck was enough to invite the god of death.
And this day was going to be a trial more than a match for any one of
those shitty, cursed days.
The cause of their misfortune was incredibly straightforward.
Clouds.
The veil of night that should have been covering hell was lacking. The
first to realize were the veterans, who were used to bad luck.
One of them, the captain of the pathfinder bomber leading the formation,
gnashed his teeth as he grumbled in anxiety. “…They’re not canceling the
mission?! This is nowhere near enough cloud cover!”
The night sky.
A pitch-black sky.
The surface below was completely dark, most likely because of a strict
blackout order, but it was obvious that it wasn’t hidden behind a thick wall of
clouds. It was fine that they could see their targets, but when you stare into
the abyss, it tends to stare back at you.
“What the hell did the weather specialists mean by ‘perfect conditions’?
Perfect conditions to be intercepted?! Were they knocking back aquavit or
something? Those idiots probably just said whatever popped into their liquor-
addled minds first!” he spat and, with a deep foreboding, scanned the terrain.
What he spotted was red. The sudden appearance of a violent, blinding
beam.
“A searchlight!”
“Shit! We’re totally visible!”
“Night fighters, high!”

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At the shriek from the flight engineer, the captain tried to push the control
stick to evade but lost consciousness before he had a chance.

The cause was a 20 mm autocannon shell fired from above by an enemy
fighter. The modernized grim reaper’s scythe didn’t even allow the captain
time for his life to flash before his eyes. He was gone in an instant. The god
of death was so efficient in this day and age.

At the same time the brains of the man who had been the captain
splattered the plane’s interior, his crew was meeting with a similar fate. The
pathfinder—now unsteady, aimless, and out of control—was unable to
maintain its flight position and was pulled to the ground as gravity’s prisoner.

Meanwhile, the planes behind it in the formation had a sickeningly good
view of the carnage. Or rather, they were unfortunate enough to see it unfold
in great detail. After all, the imperial searchlight had been kind enough to
illuminate the whole scene.

That was when the following bomber’s crew screamed.
“Pathfinder went down! Aw, hell!”
There weren’t enough clouds. They were hopelessly naked in death alley.
And the enemy night fighters were descending on them like fish eager for
bait. Irritatingly for the bombers maintaining formation, the enemy was in
prime night-fighting form.
These troublesome visitors came not just from above but below as well.
“Flak’s directly beneath us! The ground’s opening up!”
With their targets lit by searchlight, a storm of anti–air fire was going up.
And on top of that, the illuminated planes made great targets for the zooming
fighters.
Get lit up for one minute, and your life span gets cut in half.
Get lit up for two, and you thank God if you survive.
Each and every moment spent in that sky grated on the soul. It might as
well have been an eternity of torment. Now? Not yet? Haven’t we reached the
release point yet?
That’s what it meant to be a member of a Commonwealth bomber crew.
All of them knew what they were in for, but it was still absolute torture.
“Prepare to release! Sync up!”
With the pathfinder gone, the commander set the target at his own
discretion.
“Now!”

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The bombs simultaneously released were, to the bomber crews, excess
luggage. Once the heavy load was dropped on the imperial side, their task
was done. There was not even the slightest reason for the now much lighter
bombers to linger over the furiously firing enemy anti–air positions. One
plane after another banked around and hurried to withdraw from imperial
airspace, where danger prowled for prey to follow home.

But while they were on their way…
“They’re coming after us! Damn it! We’re taking fire!”
They were still far from friendly territory beyond the Dodobird Strait.

JULY 1, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL ARMY WESTERN AIR
CONTROL COMMAND

There’s a very basic saying about war that goes: “If one side is hurting, it’s
no walk in the park for the other side, either.”

The Imperial Army was continuously, resolutely repelling the
Commonwealth’s strategic bombings. But these were far from sweet
victories. They were extremely familiar with how bitter winning could be.

When dawn broke after the long night, the duty officers reluctantly faced
one another to address reality with scowls on their faces.

Why would this day be any different from the ones that had come before
it?

“Damage report?” the commander asked.
The tense atmosphere weighed on the soldier reporting in as much as the
waiting commander’s gaze did.
“Within acceptable limits.”
The officers reviewing the aftermath of the attack sighed in relief. It was
the way everyone at Western HQ wanted every morning to start.
Negligible damage.
No one dared ask for more. They had all given up on wishing for an end
to bombers long ago.
“The perimeter defenses suffered limited damage… I daresay the decoy
anti–air positions are working as intended. But I doubt we can keep relying

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on the same trick forever.”
“One group didn’t fall for it and actually reached the industrial area.

Luckily, a division of the air fleet noticed and drove them off. Damage there
is also limited.”

“Overall, we were able to bloody the enemy. Nevertheless, there’s a good
chance they will be able to continue offensive operations.”

They had just weathered a night-bombing mission that fielded more heavy
bombers than the imperial air fleet could dream of. Early on in the war, they
were able to completely shut out the Commonwealth bomber force, but at
some point, enemy numbers had grown to the point where they were
consistently getting through.

Of course, it wasn’t as if their imperial hosts had been twiddling their
thumbs, either. But they simply couldn’t keep up. They couldn’t eliminate
every threat.

Through their sighs, everyone just kept wondering if they would be able
to even maintain the status quo.

“Get started on repairs, distributing aid, and caring for the victims.”
The commander’s words represented nothing less than their solemn duty.
After countless days of bombings, the officers in the west had already fallen
into a routine.
Of course, when the nightly raids first started, it wore on their nerves.
Now, though, they were all too familiar.
At least for the officers, it had become a normal part of the day.
Even so, their sage minds turned toward the future at times.
No one ever loudly proclaimed what everyone must have been thinking.
Even imperial officers thought twice about cheerfully discussing their grim
prospects.
But when their minds naturally wandered…sometimes quiet comments
slipped out.
“…Right now, we’re doing a decent job of handling the bombers. But we
can’t keep that up forever. At this rate, sooner or later…” one officer
murmured in fear.
Pessimism is the greatest taboo there is for a soldier. Usually, they would
laugh such dire thoughts off, encouraging one another or complaining
playfully.
Would the fighting only grow fiercer?

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Even these disciplined officers didn’t have the strength to laugh these
worries off as pessimism. Most of them harbored the same fear.

The same worry.
The same terror.
The same foreboding.
Their training and orders were all that had kept them from sinking into
defeatism. Once one anxious comment slipped out, more followed it like a
dam had burst.
“The eastern front took too many of our fighter units.”
“And mages. It’s always, The eastern front needs this; the eastern front
needs that! What about the rest of us?”
Unproductive griping.
They all recognized it for what it was. But their discontent had been
building for so long that the officers had to get them out now that an
opportunity presented itself.
“And the new replacement pilots that we do get have flight hours way
below prewar standards. Some of them are in the double digits!”
“Seriously? I thought they were still flying a minimum of a hundred and
fifty before their first deployment.”
“In the latest accelerated batch, it’s rare to find anyone who’s hit three
digits.”
That’s hard to believe. The room’s attention focused on the air liaison
officer. Before the war, anyone with only a hundred hours wouldn’t even be
out of training yet.
They were supposed to have at least three hundred under their belts. Six
hundred, if possible.
To any officer blessed with the fortune to have been trained according to
the strict prewar standards, that was the baseline they lived by.
It was only natural that they found the current situation deeply unsettling.
“Unbelievable. So we’re just going to run our promising pilots and young
mages into the ground?”
“What choice do we have? All the aerial mage units that were halfway
decent in the field got pulled to replace all the losses in the east…”
“So, in the end, it really is all about the eastern front, huh? That place is a
quagmire.”
Central Command sucked up tons of matériel and injected it into the

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eastern front. Hearing that even the ammunition manufactured in the
occupied territories was being sent to sustain the battle of attrition in the east
was enough to make anyone sick.

They could scream that they didn’t have nearly enough anti–air shells, but
the home country still requisitioned it all because they’re needed in the east.
Normally, there would be more than enough soldiers to crew the air defenses,
but even manpower was in short supply.

There just wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough of anything.
The reason was the east. The Empire was hemorrhaging on that front.
“We let them keep believing that it’s all quiet in the west. People back
home clearly have no idea what it’s like out here.”
What interrupts the storm of complaints is their superior officer clearing
his throat in exasperation.
“That’s enough grumbling for one day.”
Given a warning look that says they’ve gone too far, officers who can
decipher even the subtle wavelengths of a CRT aren’t about to misread it.
Any further comments wouldn’t be forgiven. It was a firm statement that
there was a line they weren’t allowed to cross.
And so they all raced to be first to return to their work, allowing the
practically mutinous atmosphere to vanish without a trace.
Of course, the commander who told them to cut it out shared their feelings
on the matter. Even if was only a private thought, anyone in charge of air
defense couldn’t help but feel it keenly.
“…Things are going downhill, huh?”
The removed core.
The mounting strain of endless battles.
And replacements who were disappointing in both quality and quantity.
Just as he had been practically ripping his hair out, word came that a large
batch of replacements was on its way, so he held out hope for a time. But
when they finally arrived, it turned out they were graduates of the accelerated
training program thrown straight onto a battlefield they were wholly
unprepared for. It was a desperate measure the Empire never should’ve
resorted to doing.
In front of the others, the commander maintained composure as if nothing
was wrong. But internally he wanted to groan.
They had given the Commonwealth bomber groups another good

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thrashing. Considering the fortunate lack of cloud cover, they could probably
expect quite a score from last night.

The ratio of losses was definitely within the acceptable range. Their first
gold star in some time.

But that only meant they had succeeded at fending off the enemy.
“This is suffering.”
There was little doubt they would have to fight against tomorrow. Would
the Empire manage to emerge victorious yet again from the Battle of the
West’s next engagement? It was possible the enemy would come again the
day after that as well. There was no reason to think the Empire couldn’t win
that day as well.
But what about next month? And the month after that? In half a year? The
next whole year even?
Could they really continue sustaining this rate of attrition?
“…Absolute suffering.”

THE SAME DAY, IMPERIAL CAPITAL, GENERAL STAFF OFFICE

Shore up command personnel in the west. The Imperial Army had been aware
of the need for quite a while. Yet, it was merely one among many other minor
issues that had long been left unresolved.

The reason was simple.
There weren’t enough people to go around.
To go a step further, unrealistic expectations had led to the current
predicament. The prewar estimates had been proven inaccurate, and there
were not enough staff officers.
For a decisive battle, commanding a field army did require concentrated
commitment of human resources, but the necessary head count was limited.
Taking this into account, the Empire cultivated its staffers through a strict
selection process and targeted investment.
Only the most promising officers who passed initial screening were sent
to the war college and put through staff training. The officer pool was already
a selective group, so this system of choosing only the very best was overly

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exacting.
The policy that was absolutely the correct answer during peacetime was

completely insufficient in wartime.
In a situation like the one on the Rhine front, where the army found itself

unable to extricate itself from bitter trench warfare, it was unfeasible to yank
officers out just to send them off to war college. And in a situation like the
east’s, with its mobile fronts and fluid defensive lines, it would be difficult to
pull an officer, who would have detailed knowledge of the theater of
operations, without leaving forces in disarray.

On top of that, there was a limit to how much training for staffers could be
accelerated. For all these reasons, the existing staff officers were terribly
overworked.

They were thankful to have even injured officers stationed in the rear
helping out.

For staff officers who could move freely, there was no such thing as time
to rest. Most of them were being worked like rented mules.

They were considered staff officers first and human beings second, but
they were still only human.

On top of everything else, there was the chronic lack of hands.
Being ordered to send away personnel under these circumstances was a
chilling demand. Even the imperial-style staff didn’t have it in them to
enthusiastically meet this request.
But their hesitation ended there.
If the head of the General Staff, Lieutenant General Rudersdorf, was
personally taking the lead, the staffers would voice their complaints to God
and reluctantly get their asses in gear.
They were all gathered in a meeting room.
Fewer than ten in number, they gazed with trepidation at the chairman of
the meeting, Rudersdorf himself.
To one of the attendees, Colonel Lergen, it made perfect sense.
Overall, the staffers were exhausted. The same staffers whose outstanding
endurance had been acknowledged after their minds and bodies were pushed
to extremes over the course of their intense military education!
We can’t possibly spare anyone else. The words seemed to be rising in the
throats of everyone present.
But as Lergen watched, the leader of the meeting broached the topic with

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a straight face.
“As I suspected, we do need to send someone west.”
The general indicated that would be the meat of their discussion.

Realizing they would be entertaining the possibility of someone being
dispatched, even the most reserved staffers felt compelled to voice their
objections.

The officer sitting next to Lergen went pale and quickly thrust a hand into
the air, requesting permission to speak.

“General, with all due respect, I don’t think there are any major issues
with the west’s personnel…”

“It needs to be better. We’re sending someone. The only question left is
who.”

The staffer had tried to say, We don’t want to send anyone, in a
roundabout way but was completely routed by Rudersdorf’s flat reply.

So we have no choice? Lergen braced himself.
We have to send someone. That’s what the higher-ups want.
“There are very few people who can comprehend the General Staff’s will
fast enough to act on it immediately. And the quagmire out west is a battle of
attrition. Even a slight improvement could prove decisive down the line.”
When he scanned the room, they all shuddered.
“That’s why we’re going to do this right. It’s time to give the western
front some proper attention. Got it?”
When he asked for confirmation, most of the staffers averted their eyes.
Though Lergen was just barely able to meet the general’s intense gaze, he
preferred not to answer.
But for better or worse, Lergen was also a staff officer.
He searched his mind for an appropriate person and promptly proposed a
candidate.
“What about General Rosenberg? Before returning to the service, he was a
member of parliament. He’s well versed in the relationship between the
government and the military, and he’s a baron.”
Rosenberg was a military government official in Dacia. The high-ranking
general was not only on relatively good terms with the imperial family, but
he also got on decently well with the civilian government, too. The man came
with a wealth of political experience.
“The military administration in Dacia is our oil lifeline. I don’t want to

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think about what would happen if we moved him.”
His first choice having been shot down, Lergen suggested his second pick.
“How about Lieutenant Colonel Schulz? He joined around the same time

as me. Given the long recuperation from his illness, it’s an open question
whether he’s fit for line duty, but his handling of critical matters in the rear
has been outstanding. If I remember correctly, he’s dealing with military-civil
affairs.”

“That’s a good choice. If only we could have him. It hasn’t been made
official yet, but that idiot Zettour is taking him to the east.”

“He’s been pulled, sir?”
Rudersdorf grunted yes with a bitter nod.
“His transfer will be announced at the next general meeting for personnel
assignments. He’ll be posted as an advisor to the Council for Self-
Government—an appointment that acknowledges his coordination skills. I
can understand it from a division planning perspective, but an agreeable,
skilled staffer is so rare…”
That meant Lergen’s second choice was also no good. But the General
Staff should have been capable of unilaterally moving mid-ranking
personnel.
If necessary, they had the option of stealing him.
“Shall we divert Schulz from there?”
“No. We can’t let the planning of the voluntary division fail.”
Given the obvious importance of the east, the west simply had to be lower
priority. At this point, very few viable candidates remained. There were many
capable staffers despite the shortage, but there were hardly any who could be
relied on for something besides operations.
Oh. There Lergen recalled a certain exceptional railroad man. Excellent
coordination skills. An ideal in both personality and character.
“What about Lieutenant Colonel Uger? A good, talented man. I think he
meets the bar.”
“…We’ve been working him too hard. He’s also not aggressive enough. If
he were a brigadier general or had experience commanding a regiment on the
front lines, it might be a different story…”
Career matters, hmm? And then someone came to Lergen’s mind.
There was a candidate who had the perfect experience for the job, if
nothing else.

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“Then what about me, sir? I have combat experience, if only on paper.
I’m also not a general, but if you take my service experience into account—”

As he was about to mention the suitable presence he exuded, Rudersdorf
interrupted. “It’s folly enough to use your house as firewood during a total
war, but we’re not so pressed that we need to burn our arms and legs, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”
“I have more than enough work for you, Colonel. Anyone else you can
think of?”
Before he even had time to jokingly ask for a reprieve, he was ordered to
name his next suggestion.
At this point, I guess I’ll think strictly in terms of military careers. Lergen
mulled over his options. Someone who was available and capable of
following through on the General Staff’s intentions…
What about him?
“What do you think of General Romel? If we assigned him to the west
following a short stay with the General Staff after the Southern Continent
Expeditionary Corps gets recalled, I think we could fill him in on the
situation.”
“…He will have his hands free.”
“Yes, sir. Once he’s back, he surely will be. A command in the west
might even be a bit of a vacation for him. Personnel-wise, he’s a very
convenient choice.”
“But he’s an outstanding tactical commander. That ability would go to
waste if we posted him there. And he doesn’t have much experience with the
intersection between civilian and military matters. We could educate him, but
is there a chance that will end up watering down his talents?”
“In that case…” Lergen quickly revised his proposal. If one wasn’t good
enough, then two would do. “How about sending Lieutenant Colonel Uger
along to assist?”
“That’s out of the question.” Rudersdorf shook his head. “I’m not sending
more than one. Usable staffers are already too scarce.”
Unbeknownst to Lergen at the time his plan was getting shot down, Uger
was prized for his negotiating ability.
Being able to coax needed supplies out of someone who persistently
grumbled, complained, and even made outright nasty remarks—that had
never been valued in staff officers.

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As a result, the sky was the limit when it came to demand for people who
could make a compromise.

Any attempt to put “the railroad guy who negotiates so politely” with
civilians in the rear would elicit objections that spared no thought for
appearances.

“Haaah.” There, Rudersdorf openly emitted a sigh. “A sudden increase in
divisions, replacing the dead, and to top it off, the General Staff has to cough
up people for military administration. Even Zettour was tapped by Supreme
Command and shipped off to the east.” Sighing again in irritation, he
continued, “Meeting staffing requirements on paper and actually finding
people who can do the job are two very different things.”

It was a valid complaint. Probably all the staff gathered in that meeting
room would agree. They could only cradle their heads in their hands after his
pointed remark.

“We don’t have enough people. Yet, we must send someone.”
“…I’m sure you’re aware how difficult it is.”
“At any rate, choose someone. We can’t neglect the west too much. If we
don’t keep someone with combat experience in the rear, we risk not
absorbing the lessons of the western and eastern fronts equally.”

THE SAME DAY, THE EASTERN FRONT

When the one in charge in the home country is sick to their stomach, the one
in charge in the field probably feels equally sick—Why can’t you give us
more soldiers?

Even in the Imperial Army, this was an inescapable truth.
Lieutenant General Zettour, too, in his advisory role on the eastern front,
smothered his distress beneath an iron mask and smoked one of his precious
few remaining cigarettes with a blank face.
“…And the multinational unit?”
“They’re keeping the pressure on the Hofen salient. The 301st Division is
putting up a tough fight, but they may not be able to hold out for long.”
Staring at the map spread out before them, Zettour fell silent for a time.

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Forces stretched thin. Limited reserves. That was the situation they were
currently facing.

…In theory, they had the massive Eastern Army Group at their disposal,
but the attrition rate was brutal.

The only strategic reserves left were one armored division, one
mechanized division, and one aerial mage battalion. Besides that, there were
only a few depleted infantry divisions.

For an entire army group’s strategic reserves, it was incredibly threadbare.
The textbook move would be to immediately order a general retreat to
reorganize and replace their losses. Back when he was a supervisor at the war
college, Zettour would have taught exactly how to best conduct the
withdrawal. The problem now was that even if they pulled back, there
wouldn’t be any replacements waiting for them, much less reinforcements.
“How about deploying the aerial mage battalion from the strategic
reserves? We can’t afford to lose the Hofen salient if we want to still try to
successfully complete the objective of annihilating the enemy army…”
“Let’s not.”
“General?”
Zettour scoffed at the puzzled officers, though he was ostensibly smiling.
“Do you really intend to revisit the classic dilemma of debating whether key
terrain or flexibility of strategic reserves is more important?”
He recalled his years at war college and how genuinely fun it had been.
Carrying out his duty to the imperial family and the fatherland while
shouldering the fate of the troops was quite taxing. Recently, he had begun
finding the weight difficult to bear. Had he grown old? His shoulders
certainly felt sore.
“Can you say for sure that we absolutely must hold that position? Are you
capable of making that call? Think about it. Even if it would be useful in
theory, do we have the manpower to exploit it?”
Time, space, and strategic reserves.
An officer must always be calculating.
“If I may, General.”
“What is it? I always welcome an opinion.”
“With all due respect, it sounds as if you’re suggesting that withdrawing
troops is an option.”
Condemnation masquerading as confirmation. I see—from a textbook

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point of view, it makes sense that removing troops from a salient, a key
offensive position, is worthy of criticism.

But Zettour smiled.
“…If it ‘sounds’ like that to an operations staff officer, then the Eastern
Army Group must truly be in a tight spot.”
“Well, that’s…!”
These fellows were far from inept.
They were perfectly aware of the trade-off between time and space, and
they reacted precisely because the pressing need to pull back the front line
had been on their minds. Even if the common sense of not retreating from a
critical location was cemented into their brains, they had enough intellectual
integrity to fret about how inconsistent that was with their situation.
“There aren’t enough forces. Not anywhere near enough. Overcommitting
our strategic reserves to a single scrap of supposedly important terrain would
only result in a pointless battle of attrition.”
Everyone acknowledged Zettour’s judgment with wordless groans. No
one was happy about it, but they accepted that they had no other choice.
“We are going to abandon the Hofen salient. We should probably plan to
assist in the retreat.”
“But there’s the precedent of Soldim 528 and the viability of a partial
envelopment…”
The protest was hesitant. But it was nothing but a greedy wish.
“Is there a reason you’re comparing our current situation to the time we
used an elite Kampfgruppe and a fresh armored division against an enemy
whose main body was busy dealing with Operation Andromeda?”
The force concentration involved and the strategic environment were far
too different. The two scenarios couldn’t even be compared. With a sober
look on his face, Zettour snapped. “If you still have the audacity to
recommend we mount a frontal attack, then I order you to give me the
location of that brazenness at once. I’ll fill out the requisition forms for it
right away.”
When he shot a sharp glance around the group, they were all wearing the
same troubled expression.
If an officer wanted to see what kind of frown they were making in the
mirror, all they had to do was look at their neighbors. Intelligent staffers
could grasp a situation by simply observing one another’s faces.

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And what they saw now were one another’s pained expressions.
“Good.”
“General?”
“Now that we all agree, let’s move on. We should discuss how to best
support the withdrawal.” Zettour rapped his knuckles on the table and
dropped his irate tone. “If it’s possible for our forces to pull back, then I’d
like to use that to set up our next move. Specifically, I’d like to provoke the
Federation Army.”
“…You mean luring the enemy into the salient? But we don’t have
enough forces to conduct an encirclement even if we manage to draw them
in…”
“I’m all for maneuver war, but we can’t keep using the same lure,
envelop, then annihilate move every time.”
It’s like sleight of hand.
There may be a lot of room for creativity with tactics, but falling into a
pattern could only spell trouble.
Once the gimmick is revealed, it becomes impossible to stay fed on a
single trick.
Zettour smiled faintly. “That said, the instant the enemy thinks they’ve
seen through your tricks is the best time to trap them. Gentlemen, why don’t
we get a little creative?”
Being denied access to any straightforward method was more than enough
to cause them stress, but the best plan in the field would always be the one
that could actually be carried out.
The Eastern Army Group was, after all, an army group.
It wasn’t as if they couldn’t work on things that didn’t affect strategy,
such as coordinating with the Council for Self-Government, maintaining the
supply lines, and improving logistics.
But even so…they were limited by what they could do in the field.
What would the Empire—what would Supreme Command do?
The military wasn’t the head. They were the hands and feet. Taking that
metaphor to its logical conclusion, the Eastern Army Group was merely a
finger on one of those hands, and they had to do whatever they could.
“In any damned case, let’s send that multinational voluntary army to a
cosmopolitan graveyard.” He would have liked another smoke, but he had so
few remaining that, grieving inwardly, he chuckled instead. “Gentlemen,

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Commies love propaganda. Always keep an eye on where that unit is
stationed. The next major thrust will revolve around that location.”

“General, in Operation Andromeda, the main battlefield was nowhere near
the front lines…”

“That’s right. And following Communist logic, that will be the basis for
their next move. Of course, we can’t know for sure, but it’s something to take
into consideration.”

AT THE SAME TIME, THE MULTINATIONAL VOLUNTARY
ARMY GARRISON

Victory is a cure-all. At the very least, it can sugarcoat just about any
conflict.

And the multinational unit that had been getting pummeled by the
Imperial Army for so long was no exception.

Thwarting Operation Andromeda had been a major turning point. If
nothing else, the Federation was loudly trumpeting their great triumph over
the Empire, and their allies were lavishing one another with congratulations.

Even if they suffered a painful defeat in the ensuing maneuver battle, their
strategic victory was undeniable.

The improvement in the situation fell like a welcome rain on the
multinational unit. This was just perfect for propaganda.

They couldn’t have wished for a more politically convenient victory.
That’s what had the commander of the Commonwealth Marine Mage
Expeditionary Unit, Lieutenant Colonel Drake, in such a good mood.
“…I guess we’re making progress.”
Fertile ground as far as the eye could see. No sign of the enemy. And as
the Imperial Army made their retreat, the Federation Army pushed up.
Drake and his troops had been sortieing daily to support the general
advance. Their primary mission was search and destroy. Though they fanned
out for maximum coverage on their sorties, encounters were sporadic.
He could only conclude that the imperial ground forces were giving up
ground with terrifying practicality and beating a hasty retreat.

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The rare reports that did come in were of contact with what seemed to be
imperial reconnaissance planes or aerial mages.

“The front is moving faster than I expected.”
There was so little prey that they often returned from their sorties empty-
handed.
That’s a fine thing, he was thinking as he gathered up the company under
his immediate command, but as they landed, he spotted two familiar faces.
Colonel Mikel and First Lieutenant Liliya Ivanova Tanechka were
standing together, their mismatched heights making them an odd couple. One
was a comrade in arms he was close with, and the other was a bothersome
political officer.
Setting aside the former, if the latter was here to “greet” him, he could
only assume trouble was afoot.
What exactly did they want from him?
“Colonel Drake, do you have a moment?”
Just as expected, the one to address him was the Commie dog. He
couldn’t stand talking to political officers.
If anyone asked him, Drake would probably say that there was almost
nothing worse in the world. A conversation with a parrot would probably be
more rewarding.
“Yes. Is it for Colonel Mikel or yourself?”
“Comrade Colonel would like to consult with you about the war
situation.”
“Oh, so it’s for Colonel Mikel!” Openly sarcastic, he turned his gaze on
the interpreter, Tanechka. “What in the world does the colonel wish to
consult me about, Lieutenant?”
Normally, it would be Drake and Mikel who had the discussion—there
was no need whatsoever for Tanechka to explain every little thing to Mikel in
the Federation’s language.
This lieutenant, a political officer, was only present to guarantee the
Communist Party’s interests under the guise of interpreting.
I guess I just have to conveniently forget that my friend Colonel Mikel is
fluent in the Commonwealth’s language.
I suppose the important thing about a show is that it must go on.
It was an utter farce, but the performers, Mikel and Drake, were dead
serious. Their audience may have been a single political officer, but when

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Mikel’s life and more depended on how well they acted, Drake couldn’t
afford to relax.

“The magic air battles are going well. As our troops advance, the front
line will continue moving forward. At this juncture, I’d like to consider a new
operation.”

“A new operation now?! You’ll be sure to tell him, The Federation’s
soldiers are just bursting with life and what a fine thing that is, all right?”

As he stared at her, the first lieutenant seemed to hesitate.
Oh, I see.
“And how does the colonel reply?”
“Ummm, I beg your pardon, but could you repeat what you said?”
“Ah, sorry, Lieutenant Tanechka. I guess I spoke too quickly?”
A snarky little jab.
Just a bit of provocation meant to curb her attitude.
The political officer said something to Mikel, and as soon as Mikel
nodded a few times, Drake lost no time in expanding on his childish mischief.
“By the way, won’t we be getting any reinforcements from the south? A
new operation is all well and good, but we can’t ignore the issue of
manpower.”
“According to the party’s announcements, the situation in the south is
steadily improving, but it’s still necessary to watch for a counterattack.”
The political officer replied immediately, but this conversation was
supposed to be between Mikel and Drake, if only as a formality. Drake
vented some of his frustration on Tanechka.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. But you’re a lieutenant. We mustn’t let a gap in
rank become a gap in knowledge. Could you ask Colonel Mikel if we can
expect reinforcements, just in case?”
As before, she spoke rapidly to Mikel and then serenaded Drake with a
padded-out version of the colonel’s utilitarian reply.
“As I thought, his answer is the same. The situation in the south is
improving, so this will be the best opportunity for us to pulverize those evil
imperialists.”
“Very good! So what’s the new operation about?”
“It’s a proposal that comes straight from the Central Committee.”
“Oh? How exciting. What sort of proposal? I can’t wait to hear it.”
Drake’s words were practically dripping with veiled contempt. Talking with

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these political guard dogs was such torture—all it did was eat away at his
dignity and reason.

But the next words out of her mouth ejected those idle thoughts from
Drake’s mind.

“Party leadership is considering decapitation tactics.”
Decapitation!
Apparently, it was the perfect time to give the enemy a taste of their own
medicine.
That was probably the gist of this idea.
“What’s the target?”
“Eastern Army Group HQ. I believe they’re targeting the enemy chief of
staff, Lieutenant General von Zettour.”
“Isn’t he an inspector, not chief of staff?”
“But according to testimony from prisoners, he’s the one who’s actually
in charge.”
Drake was happy to get a straight answer to his question.
If there was anything to complain about, it was that a mere first lieutenant,
even if she was a political officer, was better informed than him, the
commander of the Commonwealth forces.
They wouldn’t get anywhere like this.
“Lieutenant Tanechka, may I ask you one thing?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Sorry, but when did you get that intel?”
“Huh?”
The young political officer bewildered by Drake’s irritated gaze probably
didn’t mean anything by her reply. It most likely never even occurred to her.
Attributing malice when something could just as easily be explained with
stupidity only complicated matters.
“No one informed me. Discussing an operation that’s premised on intel I
haven’t received yet is out of the question.” Then he emphasized the issue of
rank again. “You may be a political officer, Lieutenant Tanechka, but I
cannot fathom why you would know something that the commander of the
all-volunteer unit from the Commonwealth doesn’t. I ask that you provide me
with the relevant reports.”
“Ummm, well…”
She had put him in a situation where he had no choice but to get angry.

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This is how you treat a fellow soldier who’s gone to such lengths to put their
life on the line and fight beside you?

“Did Colonel Mikel know and just not tell me?”
He knew full well that wasn’t the case.
If anything, Mikel was even more wary of the Communist government
than Drake.
The bigwigs back home really needed to ship a few more career soldiers
for a tour in the east. Even a short stay would probably make them appreciate
and trust the central government more than ever.
In the Federation, everyone gets to learn just how precious a thing
democracy is.
“There was some sort of mix-up, and…I was just about to tell you.”
“Very good. Then I’d like to ask you to interpret for me. Please tell him,
I’m sure that going forward you’ll provide your allied country with the
appropriate intelligence reports.” Only then can we continue, intimated
Drake to Tanechka with the feigned smile of a clever diplomat.
“Let’s cooperate for the relationship between our nations.”
“So you agree?”
The political officer jerked her face up, clearly worried about whether her
error would have far-reaching effects. Honestly, people from the Federation
are far too terrified of making mistakes.
…We’re supposed to be allies, for crying out loud!
Even the PM said that, if necessary, they would shake hands with the
devil and defend him in the House of Commons.
Everything hinged on the words if necessary!
And that was how he had been saddled with the abominable task of
approaching a political officer with a smile on his face!
“The multinational unit will do everything in its power to succeed on all
fronts. That’s our role.”
This was a political assignment, and ultimately he was under no
obligation to follow the Federation’s orders. But as long as cooperation was
fruitful, obliging his hosts was part of his job.
The home country would probably approve this sort of enjoyable
operation. It seemed especially up Major General Habergram’s alley.
“From that standpoint, mobilizing the elites should be rather productive—
assuming those of us who carry out the plan make it back alive, of course.

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But that’s what officers are for. I’m willing to give it a shot.”
A difficult mission.
But very worthwhile.
It would be easy to get the troops excited about it.
“Can I expect to receive the necessary documents without delay?”
The one who replied to Drake’s request and hard stare was, as expected,

the political officer. She nodded, forgetting to maintain the facade that she
needed to consult Mikel.

“Of course. I’ll see to it.”
“Good.” He nodded, made the decision to shake only Mikel’s hand, and
promptly returned to his quarters, where he found an unexpected visitor.
It was Tanechka and a crowd of military police. Before he had a chance to
wonder what they had come for, the political officer and her entourage
noisily slammed packets of paperwork down on his desk.
It was the transcript of the aforementioned prisoner’s testimony properly
translated into the Commonwealth’s language—the materials he had only just
requested. Apparently, the Federation Army occasionally delivered what was
asked of them in a timely fashion.
So they had it all this time, he wanted to groan.
If it was this easy to do, then just do it from the beginning! he nearly
screamed. After a thought that he was in a room that might be bugged, he
pragmatically expressed only his amazement.
Fuckers.
Even so, after he looked over the papers and had a chance to think through
the situation, he no longer had any choice but to say what he thought.
“Crap, this guy… He’s one tough customer.”
The target was a high-ranking general. Any commander who made
frequent use of decapitation tactics naturally knew how to guard against
them. Based on what was in the documents, it was clear that this general
moved quickly and often.
The conditions necessary for this sort of operation couldn’t even be
compared to a strike on a fixed target. Even if they could count on tips from
the Federation partisans, there was no way they would be able to nail down
his location for certain.
“…How are we going to catch a moving target? We’ll have to know what
his plans are.”

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The chance of missing their shot was enormous.
“Even if we can find him, there’s still a whole pile of other issues. Can we
take out his security detail fast enough? What should we do if he escapes?”
In short, it was too high risk.
“I’m not sure how the imperials managed to make this tactic work so
often.”
Surprisingly, the enemy had been using this stratagem to incredible effect.
He despised them, but as a professional, he had to respect their skill.
The two “coincidental run-ins” off the Norden coast, the attack on the
Republican Army’s Rhine front headquarters, and finally the exasperatingly
frequent strikes on key Federation Army positions…
And I guess it’s appropriate to include the landing operation against the
Entente Alliance, too. You could call it a successful instance of flanking a
land army by sea.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how well planned all
their moves were.
Analysts in the home country pointed out the possibility that they were all
just haphazard decisions, but…as someone with experience on the lines,
Drake wondered if it was really possible to get lucky so many times. Even
well-laid plans often fail. Explaining away success as repeated flukes was out
of the question.
“Just winging it in war? Ridiculous.”
They couldn’t all be coincidences. Without intensive research and
development of a fully fleshed-out operational doctrine, it would be
impossible to get such consistent and stunning results.
Therefore, learning from the enemy was the best option…but the details
of the greatest example—the direct attack on the Republican Army’s Rhine
headquarters—were still largely unavailable. It was clear that some sort of
aerial operation had been carried out, but no mages were detected until they
completed a long-range flight, at which point they descended in sync with
some kind of supporting bombardment, perhaps a railway gun attack or the
like.
There was also the hypothesis that it had been an aerial bomb and not a
railway gun…but there was so much chaos. Before any sort of proper
inspection could be made, they had been overrun by the Imperial Army.
“It’s a bit late to say so, but there really are too many mysteries. I can’t

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believe we have to hunt around just to find something to analyze.”
He could remember the confusion of the collapsing lines even now. It was

no wonder there weren’t enough records. But he had to get some research
done, or he really wouldn’t get anywhere.

“I wish someone would show me how to do the trick. Maybe I should
inquire with the home country and get in touch with the Free Republic as
well…”

Surely someone back home would have a clue or two. The issue there is
how it always takes time for intel to make it back out to the boys and girls in
the field.

The problem of time was surprisingly serious.
Drake wanted whatever clues he could get as soon as he could get them.
Lives were hanging in the balance. It was only natural that every second
counted.
Even if I can’t expect much, I suppose I should still request materials from
the Federation Army… Then again, even though they were the ones to
propose the operation, these louts didn’t offer anything in the planning stage.
I can’t count on them. Should’ve known better than to expect anything
from Communists in the first place. Are there any other sources I’m missing?
After turning these thoughts over in his mind for a moment, he pounded his
palm.
“Hmm? Oh right, there are some guys in the press corps I can talk to.
Wasn’t Andrew on the Rhine?”
The embedded journalists were one option.
He didn’t have high expectations, but it was worth trying. Either way, out
in the middle of nowhere, deep inside Federation territory, he didn’t have
many ways to acquire intelligence.
It can’t hurt…
However, a knock on the door interrupted that train of thought.
“Colonel Drake? May I have a moment—uh, sir?”
“Of course. Who is it? You can come in.”
He could chalk up the quirky way of talking to unfamiliarity with the
Commonwealth language and overlook the impropriety, but there was only
one officer under him who would say things that way.
Honestly, it was hard to keep her reined in…but not impossible, which
was perhaps the blessing in the curse.

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“Lieutenant Sue? I see you’re back.”
“Yes, I’m preparing my report. We didn’t encounter any enemies, though,
and we hardly spotted any on the ground, either.”
“Good. Turn in the full details later.”
First Lieutenant Sue nodded quite obediently in response to Drake’s
request. She had just returned from leading a unit on a mission with a degree
of independence.
He couldn’t completely rest easy, but things were stable enough that he
could afford a compromise or two.
The fact that he had been able to get her to settle down at all had to be
thanks to divine intervention.
“No rampages, huh?”
Needing to handle her with kid gloves was not ideal. It was actually rather
problematic. But whether he wanted to or not, he had to find a use for her. He
figured he should be happy he was able to manage her at all.
“Not bad.” He even found himself murmuring, “Honestly, a war you can
win is so nice.”
Did finding his own words moving make him an idiot? Truly, though, he
was enjoying how grateful victory made him feel.
“Few deaths and a decreasing number of disputes. All good things. How
nice it’s been since the Lergen Kampfgruppe left.”
He wasn’t actually thanking the enemy or anything. Perhaps it was the
Lord’s protection, or maybe the imperials were just stupid—either way he
didn’t mind getting a chance to take it easy.
“…I feel for Mr. John, though.”
For those in the field, a challenging enemy withdrawing is great fortune.
“Still, we have our own issues. There are tricky orders coming down the
chain of command. If anything, I wish we could get some sympathy.”
Once the menace of the Lergen Kampfgruppe had receded, Sue and the
others in the unit only became unrulier. Right when they were starting to get
results, and the war seemed to be swinging in their favor.
The deeply worrying issue of Mikel and Tanechka sharing command
authority still hadn’t been resolved, either. Simply overseeing the
multinational voluntary army on a day-to-day basis was already a nightmare.
If they ran into trouble on the battlefield, then what would happen?
“Aren’t we winning right now, though? Maybe I’m overthinking things.”

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No. Drake braced himself against optimism.
“That Zettour is far too disturbing.”
One moment, the enemy general would ferociously commit to relieving a
beleaguered position, and then the next, he would go silent and vanish. It
would be great if he would just hole up somewhere or retreat. He constantly
kept people guessing.
Right up until the moment he really did retreat.
…A dedicated enemy who always demanded a price in blood and iron.
Drake had no doubt he was up to no good.
It made perfect sense to lop off the head of the imperial forces. As much
as he disliked agreeing with the Federation leadership—or rather, the
Communists.
But he had to accept it.
A decapitation strike was worth considering.
The risk was huge, and he also had to admit that the unit carrying out the
mission would be essentially wandering the desperate realm of catastrophic
failure or death. As a unit commander, Drake ordinarily did his best to avoid
those kinds of situations. On the other hand, he had to recognize the idea for
its tactical and strategic merits.
Whoever coined the phrase the officer’s dilemma knew exactly what they
were talking about.
What to do? he thought with an overwhelming longing for a cigar.
He mulled over it for some time.
“Colonel…sir? Food’s ready.”
Hearing the orderly’s voice brought him back to his senses. Drake
instinctively glanced at the clock. He had been lost in thought for quite a
while.
“Shoot. It’s already this late? Better eat while the food is still hot.”
What a waste of time. Drake shook his head as he stood up. I should’ve
had a good idea or three if I was going to spend so long thinking… He just
couldn’t come up with anything unless he flooded his brain with alcohol.
It was times like these that really made him miss knocking back a beer at
the local pub. Maybe it was time to open the bottle of wine he’d won from
the reporters in a game of cards.
If he used it as a chance to hear from them, that could be considered a
necessary expense… No, officers couldn’t go around getting drunk.

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“What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Our supply situation improved. We got some colonial stuff.”
“Oh?”
That’s something to look forward to, he was thinking as he joined the
stream of soldiers heading to the officers’ mess when he noticed a mountain
of cans. The delivery must have just arrived. They were even individually
wrapped.
Heading toward that trove of canned and bottled goods, the grinning
officers were enjoying themselves quite a bit. And why wouldn’t they be?
The labels weren’t written in the Federation’s language that they had gotten
used to seeing. It was all familiar Commonwealth markings. In other words,
these were the same supplies the people in the colonies received. And the
only ones who would send individually wrapped canned goods during
wartime were colonists.
When he entered the officers’ mess, anticipation running high, he saw that
most everyone had already arrived.
In the hands of his happily chatting subordinates were…teacups. Wafting
up from them came the rich, fresh smell the Commonwealth took so much
pride in.
“Straight from port. Fancy a cuppa, Colonel?”
“Not bad, not bad. So the colonists sent tins of tea as well? I guess I
should have some. I’d like to try putting some jam in, too.”
“Ah, so it’s heresy, then?”
It was easy to laugh off the friendly jab. That had gotten much easier ever
since the war situation seemed to be tipping in their favor.
“When in Rome, am I right? Communists are impossible to stomach, but
we can at least try the way they drink their tea, right?”
When he glanced at the table—Oh, today it’s blueberry jam.
Cookies instead of scones was acceptable. The bread may have been hard,
but at least it was white. Anything was better than hardtack.
Bean soup, a simple fish dish, a meat dish—not bad at all. Considering
they were at war, this was basically a full-course meal.
The food was about as good as they could expect on the front lines.
Things finally seemed to be headed in the right direction.
“It’s nice to have things like this once in a while on the battlefield. Let’s
enjoy some quality for a change.”

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JULY 1, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL CAPITAL, ZOLKA CAFË

Colonel Uger has offered to treat Tanya to a meal. What a moving gesture of
friendship.

Professionally, it can’t hurt to rub elbows with someone in the rail
administration—and he’s a useful friend besides. Throw in a free meal on
top, and Tanya has no choice but to show up. Uger is an affable man, so it’s
an easy decision to meet him.

On this day, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff was careless.
After a stroll down familiar streets, she steps into Zolka Café, clearly in a
great mood and excited for coffee. When she spots Uger’s rather tired-
looking face, they trade polite greetings as she takes a seat.
It isn’t until the meal is about to begin that I realize I’ve miscalculated.
The dishes served at the venerable Zolka Café adhere to tradition,
meaning an initial offering of bread, then an appetizer, the main course, and a
spot of tea to conclude the affair.
That’s all well and good, but there is one issue—every single thing being
served is ersatz.
“…What do you think, Colonel Degurechaff? About this home-country
feast?” There’s a faintly childish look tinged with sadness on Uger’s face.
Maintaining that unusual expression, he chuckles and says, “From the look
on your face, it seems that my ambush worked.”
He certainly pulled a fast one on me. Tanya half-jokingly nods. “To be
shot in the back. What nasty business.”
“A soldier as distinguished as you should have another set of eyes back
there.”
“If it were the notorious General von Zettour inviting me out, maybe, but I
thought I could afford to lower my guard if it was a classmate from war
college.”
Uger shakes his head, finding that out of character. “I thought you were
the embodiment of constant vigilance, on and off the battlefield.”
“Even on a battlefield, you have to trust your allies. This is rather cruel.”

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“Successfully springing a trap on a recipient of the Silver Wings Assault
Badge will make for a great war story. I’ll have to tell my daughter
someday.”

“Too bad that she’ll also have to find out you’re a reprobate who would
betray his sworn friend.”

“Please no. Anything but that.”
A good father, Uger worries his daughter might hate him. The family man
raises his hands in surrender. They must be close. What a peaceful scene
from the rear. I’m jealous. It makes me want to snark at him some more about
being served K-Brot for dinner.
“Personally, I’d like to express my good fellow soldier spirit, but sadly I
don’t think my tongue will cooperate.”
“It’s having a fit over K-Brot?”
“Yes, it’s quite a real struggle.”
Serving someone K-Brot on the home front is basically violence.
Food quality and quantity is directly linked to morale on the front lines, so
more often than not, the soldiers in the thick of hard fighting receive rations
of genuine rye bread. Even so, it’s difficult to feed everyone without
someone somewhere having to make do with K-Brot, so even frontline troops
have eaten it a few times, whether they like it or not.
But…the flavor and adulterations of the home country’s K-Brot are so bad
I’d almost call it KK-Brot.
“I’ll never forget the first time I tried K-Brot. I honestly wondered if the
idiots back home had developed it to be used as punishment or illegal
torture.”
“I feel for you, Colonel. But look. Now everything on the table is food
substitutes.”
As Uger said, Zolka Café can’t even hide it anymore.
The meat is practically a disaster. What they bring is nonperishable rations
of fish and vegetable matter that was manufactured who knows how many
years ago—revolting stuff called De De-Fleisch.
This is the state of the rear—and Zolka Café in the capital.
It’s so bad that if I didn’t know how this place used to be, it would
sincerely stump me how they could stay in business while serving such awful
food.
The meals here were quite enjoyable. But that’s all in the past now.

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Grudgingly moving her fork and knife, Tanya crams some of the
unidentifiable mush into her mouth. The jumble of flavors is impossible to
ignore.

“…Has it gotten worse?”
“Well, the chef and cooks were drafted, so there’s that. But the main issue
afflicting the capital is one you’re familiar with. Even the best cook would
struggle with rations this bad.”
“I’d like to hope the logistics situation improves…”
“That makes sense, but…this is better than if it started tasting bizarrely
good.”
Hmm? Tanya furrows her brow in response to Uger’s comment. Wouldn’t
an improvement in food quality be a good thing?
“Zolka Café is making do with what it’s rationed.”
Ahhh. Tanya nods as it becomes clear what he’s getting at. I had to get
creative to sort out the Kampfgruppe’s food situation, too. There are times
when it becomes necessary to carry out decidedly gray-area methods of
procurement—essentially pilfering from the food stores.
The pain of having to produce something even when supplies run low hits
close to home.
“They’re making quite an effort… Valiant is the only word for it.”
Not resorting to the black market or procuring things through other illicit
channels is certainly praiseworthy. But it tastes bad. It tastes so, so bad.
“Knowing where your food comes from is great as long as it also tastes
good.”
I don’t have any pretensions about being a gourmet, but when things have
gone this downhill, it’s impossible to simply let it pass without comment.
When food is one of the few things we can still look forward to, this is
beyond the pale.
It’s not tasty. Simply put, there could be nothing blander. With meals like
this, morale in the trenches would crumble like bad K-Brot.
“That comment makes me question your own law-abiding spirit,
Colonel.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel Uger, but I’m an aerial mage. Without the regular
intake of calories, I may very well starve to death before I even take to the
air.”
Shoving crap food down your throat eats away at the mind faster than

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you’d think. War is already unbelievably stressful, so some consideration for
mental health would be nice. Could the higher-ups keep it a little at the
forefront of their minds that food is one of the rare joys that can be found on
the battlefield?

I don’t mean to deny how critical it is to be conscious of the supply
situation, but we can let the Commies be the ones to rely on endless single-
product production. Abundance is what grants capitalism its legitimacy.

“You mean you’re particular about food because it’s part of your duty?”
“I’m a growing girl.”
“Ha, well said. In that case, I can put in a word to the dining room at the
General Staff Office if you’d like. I could treat you to all the food you can
eat, but…”
“Are you offering to pay for all my meals, Colonel Uger?”
“…We should probably refrain, for both of our sakes.”
“It’s gotten that bad?”
That makes me wonder if the food served to the staff officers is as awful
as ever, but Uger cocks his head slightly.
Hmm, that was a curious reaction.
“Well…hmm. How to describe it? It’s bad, but it’s not especially bad.”
“I cannot even begin to guess what you mean by that.”
Uger rephrases. “If I had to put it another way… Lately the gap in quality
between the dining room and outside restaurants has lessened.”
“You mean it improved?! Really? Is that even possible?!”
He responds to her tremendous shock with an emotional headshake. “If
only that were true. It’s simply that poor-tasting food has become the norm.”
“Meaning…”
He’s saying that relatively speaking, it’s not so bad anymore. But also that
it’s just as awful as it’s always been. The only explanation is that food
everywhere else got worse overall.
“Rather than the General Staff Office’s fare improving, civilian fare has
gone dramatically downhill. As a result, there are now people who
voluntarily eat at the office when pressed for time.”
“Surely you’re joking.”
“No, it’s terrible but true.”
He replies with a straight face, and I honestly can’t laugh even if I wanted
to.

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Tanya’s been “treated” to meals at that dining room a few times by
General von Zettour as a sort of power harassment… Things have gotten so
bad people actually choose to eat there?

Can this get any more horrifying?
The more I think about it, the more the Empire’s food situation comes into
sharp focus. If people are actually choosing to eat at the General Staff Office
dining room, doesn’t that mean civilization itself has been defeated?
“Total war is truly a scourge,” Tanya murmurs before dropping her gaze
to her hands.
Colored hot water in a pretty vessel. What a wretched feeling. The best
porcelain filled with the most disappointing substitute. The porcelain, rich
with the scent of civilization, only makes that juxtaposition more depressing.
“Even drinks have become victims.”
Two bitter laughs and a pair of sober expressions.
This lukewarm, tinted water is supposed to be black tea. Even the lowest-
quality tea looks and smells better than this.
“It’s a type of herb tea that has been popular of late. Apparently, it’s really
good for you if you need a diet high in fiber, Colonel von Degurechaff.”
“I have nothing against being health conscious, but I do wonder about the
merits of involuntarily losing weight and cramming your stomach full of
indigestible food substitutes. Honestly, it doesn’t seem very agreeable. I’m
repeating myself, but I am a growing girl, you know.” Now wearing a frown,
Tanya makes her position on the matter quite clear. “More than anything, it’s
a matter of taste… I’m not opposed to herb tea. I’d just rather have black tea
or coffee.”
“Caffeine, huh?”
“I’m a civilized person, after all.”
Coffee and black tea are perhaps one of the greatest catalysts for progress.
It creates a demand for clean boiled water and robust trade networks to
distribute commercial products.
Commerce is the best driver of diverse cultural exchange and societal
advancement. Thus, it’s only natural to consider caffeine a good friend of the
modern citizen.
“To be blunt, Colonel Uger, principles surrounding beverages should not
be made light of. Even I find it difficult to get on well with people who have
bad taste in tea.”

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“Is that a matter of taste?” Uger lifts his teacup with a finger, a wry smile
on his face as he speaks. “Sadly, it’s always tastes like that that fall victim to
war first—tea and coffee being prime examples.”

“As you say, but surely that doesn’t mean we have to meekly resign
ourselves to our miserable fates.” Joking mildly, Tanya winces. “There are
times an officer has to fight tooth and nail.”

“I’m afraid this is one time you’ll have to give in, Colonel von
Degurechaff. Without your gift from the east, it’s questionable whether there
would have even been any sugar.”

The Empire used to be the biggest sugar producer before the war. Then
the potato became the most prioritized crop amid repeated calls for more
food.

The more I learn, the more heavily reality weighs on me.
“Total war is encroaching on every aspect of daily life now?”
“That’s right. Everyday existence has become much less convenient.”
“But it’s not that bad, is it?”
“…What do you mean by that?” Uger leans in to peer into her eyes. Did
Tanya say something that shocking?
“Life may be harder now, but it’s still the same peaceful rear.”
There aren’t enemies lurking behind every corner that need to be cleared
out. The home front is a peaceful world where a person can stroll down the
street with their wallet in hand. The soldiers we pass by all have crisply
starched uniforms.
You won’t find the muck of the trenches here.
No charging Commies, no guerrillas of unknown nationality, no friendly
fire from incompetent allies—it’s an extremely orderly space.
To Tanya, the rear is still as inviting as a warm bath.
“I respect the sacrifices of the home front, but during a war, they’ll just
have to accept this degree of suffering.”
There’s no disdain or mockery in that statement.
If you’re asking me to compare this place to the front lines, I have to say I
much prefer it in the rear. It’s undoubtedly safer here than there.
It’s the objective truth—self-evident and axiomatic.
Despite this being the case, Uger’s expression contorts. Anyone watching
would instantly recognize the anger and grief marring his face.
“Colonel Degurechaff…I’d like you to put those thoughts on the back

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burner.” With a sigh, he looks up at the ceiling before continuing. “…I do
have one suggestion on the topic, though.”

“Oh, what might that be?”
“I told the lieutenant generals this as well, but you and they are birds of a
feather. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but your minds are too
sharp.”
It’s unclear whether that’s praise or criticism.
It’s not a straightforward compliment, but it’s not as if he’s disparaging
Tanya, either. And there are worse things than being grouped with influential
figures like Rudersdorf and Zettour.
“What do you mean?”
When he’s asked to clarify, Uger clams up. The awkward way he brings
the cup of gross “herb tea” to his mouth—his hesitation is practically
overflowing.
If he’s this unsettled, the sentiment must be so biting that he’s hesitant to
even say it out loud.
“You can tell me, whatever it is.”
When Tanya stares at him, he heaves another heavy sigh.
Does this man intend to drive global warming all on his own?
Considering the industrialization in this era…there must already be a
massive amount of greenhouse gasses in the air, but no one sees it as an issue.
People are more worried about the planet cooling. Maybe I should warn them
that in the long run, the trapped heat is a much greater concern?
The silence continues long enough for these idle musings to cross my
mind before Uger finally speaks up again.
“…I need you to take in some human emotions.”
“I beg your pardon, but are you saying that…I’m—?”
“To put it bluntly, I’d like to ask you to do what is natural as a human.”
Is he saying I’m not human? That’s awfully unexpected. I feel like there
are few people who can boast a sense of individuality as polished as mine.
Even that piece of shit Being X would be hard-pressed to deny that.
“Is there a reason why my humanity has come into question? My
character? Colonel, on my honor, I’ve carried out my duties perfectly…!”
In a flash of apparent anger, Tanya half-rises out of her seat, only for Uger
to hastily add, “This is not a condemnation! Please understand!”
“Could you elaborate?”

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“I have no intention of disparaging your character! I swear—it’s simply
frank advice! Please just think of it as a candid suggestion.”

“…So you’re pointing out a shortcoming?”
Sitting back down, Tanya asks a pointed question, and Uger simply nods
in response, as a staff officer is wont to. No point in trying to dodge the
subject.
“When it comes to right and wrong, you expect too much too fast, and
you’re overly harsh on those who don’t measure up. Given your upbringing
and experience, I can understand why you behave that way, but…it’s a bad
habit.” He continues with a look of heartfelt exhaustion on his face. “After
all, most emotions are persistent. Once they get tangled up, it takes time to
smooth them out.”
“I can’t say I don’t understand…”
“But you still want to disagree?”
“Yes,” Tanya replies honestly.
I can acknowledge the basic truth that emotions can be stubborn.
By the time some idiot who’s given himself over to his emotions pushes
you off a train platform and Being X—awfully short-tempered for someone
who claims to be a supernatural deity—misdirects his anger at you and the
Reich throws itself in the middle of a war in service of the emotional
arguments made by those who are long dead, the basic truth about human
emotions becomes quite clear. Who would know better than a victim of it like
me?
Which is why that harm has to be condemned. If something gets snagged,
it can simply be cut away. Isn’t that how the Gordian knot was unraveled?
“We aren’t children who have the luxury of wailing about what we do or
don’t like.”
People who reach adulthood become full members of society, at which
point good sense is something they are required to have.
If all humanity only ever acted on their emotions, the cornerstones of
civilization probably never would have been laid. If we always resolved
things with brute force, the doctrine of nuclear mutually assured destruction
would never have been realized.
I’m loath to admit it, but the examples of history cannot be denied. Even
the Commies managed to maintain some base level of rationality. Although
I’m still skeptical as to whether that can be truly defined as reason…

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Anyway, the truth is good enough. Both sides brandished their nuclear
weapons, threatened mutual assured destruction, stockpiled enough toxic
substances to reduce the globe to cinders, and yet the Cold War never went
hot.

Viva civilization. Viva rationality.
“Necessity requires reason. Hesitation, trepidation, lack of a firm resolve
—they’re all synonymous with lost opportunity. Nothing but shackles.”
This isn’t pretense or a facade but simply my honest thoughts.
In biological competition, which is in a sense nastier and more brutal than
market competition, soldiers on a battlefield must make split-second
decisions on which lives quite literally depend. And they must do this on the
fly, under circumstances that often offer no room for caution.
Rather than what’s ideal, we need to choose whatever is good enough in
the time allotted. The opportunity cost of time, especially during wartime,
weighs heavier than some poor sod’s life. Naturally, my own life and assets
are a different story.
“…That’s exactly my point.”
Judging by Uger’s expression and tone of voice, he doesn’t find much to
agree with in Tanya’s impassioned declaration of commitment to those
guiding principles—though surely any field officer would completely agree
with each and every detail, not to mention the general tone of her remarks.
“I can’t understand that mentality of unconditionally abiding by
necessity.” The voice he quietly emits is a groan. “I’m an adult. I’ve received
a thorough education as a General Staff officer. Even so, right now I want to
curl up like a child and sob.”
“Huh…?”
“Colonel, I just can’t comprehend it. I’m honestly incapable of
understanding your idea of ‘necessity.’”
I’m struck by a wave of confusion. This is more shocking than an
indestructible wall that suddenly crumbles.
What does he mean he can’t understand? Of all the ridiculous…
“Excuse me for pointing out the obvious, but you are a General Staff
officer, Colonel.”
He received a proper education at the war college. Once you become a
staff officer, the staff officer paradigm is repeatedly pounded into your brain.
Yet, here is a staff officer openly saying he wants to break down and cry?

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Keep it together, man!
“We are staff officers. We are—must be—beings who, through shared

knowledge and training, all follow the same unshakable creed.”
“You’re saying there should be no way I don’t understand?”
“Yes, Colonel Uger. It should be impossible on principle.”
Staff officers are educated to be staff officers.
The fundamental and also most basic concept is necessity. Once set, goals

must be carried out with firm resolve.
It’s both the mother of invention and our loathsome duty. If it is required

of us, we have no choice. No hesitation, no delays. All indecision and
complaint must be set aside. We always do our jobs.

“Education at the war college is extremely simple. Its goal is to mass-
produce staff officers, so once you’ve set foot in the classroom, the thinking
and behavior of a staff officer should sink into your bones. That’s the kind of
people we should be now…”

Emotional issues are an element of the will to fight that need to be taken
into consideration and accounted for. They mustn’t be any more or less than
that, and they cannot ever cause a staff officer to waver.

They beat that into us from the moment school started.
“What do you think, Colonel?”
“…What you’re saying makes sense. And in fact, I do grasp the logic.
Thankfully, my memory is halfway decent.” He shakes his head, however.
“But I’ve been in the rear for too long. I’ve become human. I’m sure that’s
been the case since my daughter was born.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he feebly wrenches some words from inside
his chest.
“Colonel Degurechaff, I…I can’t go on in life as a monstrous staff officer.
I’m nothing but a weak human. Once, I wanted to be a monster, but it’s
beyond me now.”
A declaration of his humanity?
From someone who went through the same war college curriculum as me?
From my classmate, a capable worker with integrity as well as a man who
possesses all the virtues of a modern citizen?
“That can’t be! You’re worrying far too much!” Tanya raises her voice to
encourage him. “You’re a fine staff officer! I’ve heard how talented you are.
I know you must be tired, but surely there’s no reason to lose heart!”

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“I’m barely useful as a distribution and logistics overseer. And even then,
most of my duties just involve negotiating in the rear. It has nothing to do
with what staff officers should really be working on.”

He weakly mocks himself, lamenting how he can’t be of any use on the
battlefield.

“Worst of all, I’m a third-rate operations man. I hesitate too much. I’m
absolutely useless when it comes to being a commander. For better or worse,
I can at least see myself objectively.”

Uger utters this unbelievable self-evaluation in a detached way, and it’s
completely beyond my ability to understand.

What in the world is going on?
“Honestly, I’m so glad I got stationed in the rear, and it was all thanks to
you.” Uger’s head bows low.
Though it’s not busy, per se, we’re still in public at Zolka Café. If he’s
this unconcerned by what people might think, he must be serious. His
expression isn’t visible from where Tanya’s sitting, but I have to believe that
whatever sincerity or whatnot is there has to be genuine.
If Tanya laughs it off, her social skills will undoubtedly be brought into
question. After a moment’s indecision, I opt for a benign response.
“With all due respect…back then, I was merely advising you as a
concerned classmate.”
“Even so. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Being thanked so personally like this feels… Hmm, is it the joy of a
civilian? Perhaps I’ve been on the front lines too long—the lump forming in
Tanya’s throat is enormous.
“And now it’s my turn to give you advice. I understand that you
personally aren’t evil—that’s precisely why I’m telling you these things.”
“I appreciate the kind gesture.”
“…Don’t say it so formally, Colonel.”
“It’s just my nature.”
I’m not stupid enough to let my guard down and abandon etiquette with
work friends. Really, that’s the norm in the Empire.
“That it is. You really are that kind of person. Your dedication to duty is
entirely too perfect. If I didn’t know better, I would peg you for a cold-
blooded beast. You’re not worried about people getting the wrong idea about
you?”

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What a polite warning. Honestly, Uger tends to be much more personal
than the typical citizen of the Empire. Of course, looking that up in a
dictionary would also turn up the word busybody.

Tanya puffs out her chest and says, “At any rate, I’m fairly proud of the
relationships I’ve built…”

“Ha-ha-ha. It’s always the person in question who is the last to realize. Let
me just say as a friend that you should be careful, Degurechaff.”

“I’m blessed with good superiors, reliable brothers-in-arms, and even
good subordinates. My relationships with people are one of the very few
things I can boast about.”

Capable bosses, a former classmate who makes life easier for me, and my
trusty meat shield. They’re all well trained to boot, so what more can I ask
for?

I even have other colleagues and subordinates I can trust. In the rapidly
deteriorating Imperial Army, it’s probably rare to find an officer as lucky as
me.

“Pride in your friendships…hmm? Well, you’re free to have that if you
like, I suppose.”

“Hooray for freedom. Hooray for friendship. That’s about all I have to say
on the matter.”

“I see,” Uger says, his smile darkening just slightly. Then he says casually
but with a subtle change in tone, “…Oh, right. On that note about
friendship… This is a personal topic I’d like to discuss with you in
confidence…”

“What might that be?”
I notice the unspoken signal.
It’s information from an unofficial connection. Those kinds of tidbits are
very important. An idiot will tell you to get your intel on the news, but by the
time anything is being broadcast to the world at large, those in the know have
long since heard the outcome.
During wartime, the only way to grasp the fluid, ever-changing situation
is to draw information out of the insiders.
See? My relationships are serving me perfectly fine. You worry too much,
Uger, and more so than I expected.
“I have bad news.”
Maybe that’s why he’s giving me these roundabout warnings? To express

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heartfelt gratitude, Tanya bows her head and listens with every fiber of her
body.

“I think I mentioned it before. The let’s-be-friends-again party I was
planning at my buddy’s house. I’m sure you remember. Does it ring a bell?”

Buddy, party, and…making up with someone?
Given the context, I guess he’s referring to the peace talk negotiations via
Ildoa.
“Oh, our mutual pal? You have an update on the plans?”
“It’s just not coming together. We left it at Perhaps under different
circumstances.”
“Our friend who was going to mediate said that?!”
If Ildoa is hampering communication between the Empire and the
Commonwealth, that could be a major signal as to which side they’re really
on. Well, that’s just great. Tanya is furrowing her brow when she notices
Uger shaking his head.
“No, it was our choice.”
“That’s a surprise. I thought you wanted to make up.”
“Sadly, the distance has grown too large. I didn’t feel like talking
anymore, so I simply got up and left.”
“I see. That’s too bad. Understood.”
Ooh, these bastards. The imperial leadership’s feet fell asleep! Here we
are, direly in need of peace, but they can’t tolerate a little discomfort?
Unbelievable!
This news is so bad that if she didn’t know Uger, Tanya would have
jumped up and yelled that he was talking absolute nonsense.
“Not that it’s really a substitute, but I’m planning a field trip with General
Rudersdorf. You should come and watch.”
Our hopes for peace have been crushed, so we’re going on a field trip?
Only one thing needs to be made clear right now.
“Is that an order?”
“It is.”
His matter-of-fact reply as he nods is the necessary and sufficient
condition.
“Then I’ll do as instructed.”
“I appreciate it, Colonel.”
“Don’t mention it.”

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This exchange is over, but why had Uger felt the need to declare his
humanity? Tanya doesn’t have an answer.

JULY 2, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL, NEAR
CENTRAL STATION

Trains bound for the east leave the imperial capital every single day. Eagerly
awaiting their next leave, soldiers brace themselves all along the eastern front
or perhaps trembling in the trenches.

Every last one of them is homesick. Sadly, given the critical state of the
war and the deteriorating railway situation, getting a chance to actually go on
your allotted leave is almost too much to wish for.

On the other hand, the capital also welcomes returnees on a daily basis.
Many must have dreamed of returning to their Heimat and savoring the beer
of their hometown, but instead they come back as silent coffins.

Though the main point of departure during this great war had shifted from
west to east, returnees were still coming back to the capital horizontal in their
coffins.

Tanya has been supplied with civilian mourning clothes, and the
ceremony she is ordered to attend is one of those ubiquitous memorial
services for the war dead.

Military business without the military attire. Apparently, she’s just a
private citizen for today. Lieutenant General Rudersdorf has also removed his
uniform to put on plain formal wear. He all but tells her to follow him with
the way he pointedly walks over to one corner of the venue.

I’m not getting the sense that he’ll take no for an answer. Tanya has no
choice but to swallow her questions, purse her lips, and follow him.

Before long, they reach a spot just a short way from the north exit of the
train station.

In every direction, all that can be seen is black. Mixed in with the throng
of mourning clothes, the occasional dress uniform interrupts the wall of
muted colors.

Are those white spots navy dress uniforms? They stick out too much.

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The thin streaks of white give the crowd a strange, mottled pattern. And
most of the visible army officers are ranked captain or lower. The ones
overseeing the procession are field officers, at least, but…compared to
Tanya’s and the general’s formal wear, it’s plain to see how the folks in
uniform are extremely conspicuous.

In impersonal, black mourning clothes, you cease to be an individual and
fade into the background. It was a smart choice as a camouflage. Thus, Tanya
is able to attend this funeral as a mere bystander.

That said, she’s in the Empire, and this is a ceremony, so certain norms
still need to be followed.

No matter where it takes place, all these things start the same way.
A sad bugle rings out. Whether a simplified service on the front or a
memorial service for the war dead in the rear, the song is always the same.
Frankly, the Empire loves decorum.
Whether in the capital, on the forward-most line, or yes, in the trenches of
the east, the dead are grieved for in the prescribed way.
Apparently, I’ve gotten quite used to hearing this song. It really does
make you recall your fellow soldiers, and the melody lingers in Tanya’s ears.
It almost lulls her into acting instinctively, without thinking.
Standing at attention, she stops short of saluting. She’s dressed as a
civilian right now. She snaps her rising arm back down and swallows a little
sigh.
The goal here is observation.
Thus, she takes a closer look, and…she finds herself unexpectedly
confused.
She can’t see.
The reason for poor visibility is, to be blunt, a sea of people’s backs.
Normally her subordinates are considerate and keep out of her way, but
naturally she can’t expect that treatment from the masses… How am I
supposed to do anything like this?
“Can you see?”
She responds to the teasing officer’s voice honestly, with some
impatience.
“I-it’s a bit… Well, with my height, I can’t quite make out…”

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On the front line, my height doesn’t inconvenience me at all. Sometimes it
even makes my life easier—for instance, I don’t need to crouch as much as
the others. But it’s not very helpful when I’m standing upright in a crowd of
people.

The height disparity is undeniable. I admit it—I’m tiny. Of course, since I
present a smaller target to the enemy, that just means I’m optimized for the
battlefield.

How frustrating that I’m not optimized for a civilized urban landscape.
“You can’t see at all, huh?”
“Er…not from here, unfortunately.”
“And it would be rather inappropriate for me to hoist you up on my
shoulders.”
It’s exceedingly clear that her superior, smiling like somebody’s kindly
grandfather, is having a laugh at my expense. This is what makes staff
officers such nasty characters.
I’m not happy I have to show a strange weakness in such an unusual
moment…but I must admit that Tanya is on the short side.
“Are you saying I could sit on your shoulders?”
“What? That’s what you want? Then I suppose I could do that.”
Despite my best attempt to rattle him, the general’s defenses are
impregnable.
Political animals though they may be, as social animals, there are lines
humans should not cross. And if I’m being honest, I’d do just about anything
else than have to sit on his shoulders.
“…No, er…”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me. I have the strength.”
He laughs while assuring me that he’s plenty capable of holding me up,
and my spine practically freezes.
If he puts me on his shoulders here, the shame will stay with me for the
rest of my life. If there end up being photos, any honor and dignity I may
have accumulated will be obliterated. I started this, but surely my only choice
is to respectfully decline.
“I’m honored by your offer, but I believe the circumstances call for some
reserve. Perhaps another time.”
“I see.” Rudersdorf laughs, utterly unperturbed. Is it just me, or is he
enjoying himself quite a bit at this funeral?

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